


The Light of the World

by Stug147



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 12:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5005330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stug147/pseuds/Stug147
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a distopian future a group of nomads, due to unfortunate events must escape from an ever increasing threat. The past is a mystery and the future is evermore uncertain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are much appreciated

                They had been travelling for many weeks now, away from Blackwater; when the predator advances it is the fate of the prey to move on. A caravan of people was moving along the desert sand, shuffling under the heavy heat of the sun. As with any community of people there were many groups with in the caravan. At the rear there were three young men with the Elders mounted on their shoulder on strange chair-like apparatus that allowed the men to walk as though they had nothing on their back. There were two elderly men on their shoulders and one woman, their names were; Yecht, Sari and Dural. Yecht had once been the leader of this group of people and had once been looked up to as a fierce leader, and indeed still was by a select few within the tribe but unfortunately opinions of Yecht were as different to one another as the sun is to the moon. While some still thought him a mighty warrior others thought him an incredible fool and doubted much of what he said. These opinions sprang from Yecht’s past leadership. The years had not been kind to Yecht, the years in the sun had made his skin dark and wrinkled but as he had lived his life he had taken the changes gracefully. As his cheeks became more striking and his chin protruded like a cliff he had grown a short grey goatee and groomed his long white hair carefully. He looked, now like a stern skull that was on the verge of laughing at any moment

                 The biggest threat that the village faced was a group named “Blackwater” a fearsome group that destroyed all that they touched. It was, and still is thought, by a few, that the men of Blackwater are the embodiment of evil and are unable to be killed by mere men. Others think that Blackwater are men that have forgotten all compassion and hope and are what awaits anybody who allows themselves to leave their humanity. There were hundred of ideas surrounding Blackwater that varied from tribe to tribe and from person to person between each tribe, but one thing was a constant; Blackwater are foul creatures. Yecht had once refused to be chased, once again, away by approaching Blackwater agents – which was the norm for a tribe that large – but instead stayed and fought. Yecht had received a staff in the time before the battle, a staff with the head made of a metal much stronger than even Blackwater had ever seen. The metal was the most gorgeous silver that looked cyan in the right light. It shimmered, with perfect hexagonal gleams and never blunted; this was the tribe’s prized possession. Yecht had killed three Agents that day but had lost many men, since then the leadership of the clan was given to a different family least because Yecht had no children to his name. Their clan was treated like royalty for the years to follow but the story was just a pathetic glimmer of hope now and nothing more, the clan was simply known as “The Ones That Stood” (the story goes that Yecht’s clan stood in a line for a few seconds before the battle began, but the story, so old and passed from mouth to mouth the events of that day have been thinned by time and are only fond fairytales now.)

                Sari was another elder of the village though sat rather awkwardly on the shoulders of the man she was riding. She didn’t much like being excluded from the group and especially didn’t like being excluded from Tunara, Sari followed Tunara like a friendly pet, not that Tunara minded however.

                Sari was found by the tribe many years ago in the most peculiar of circumstances, she was, what seemed the sole survivor of a Blackwater drowning; all of the buildings that surrounded her were flattened and people had been brutally murdered all about her. There skulls had been crushed like flat tires and the sand of the desert had hardened like dough, congealed with blood by the time the tribe had discovered the sight. They found Sari in a pile of rubble and had assumed she must have seen everything; her friends skinned and brutally dismembered all about her. They would have, of course, asked her but the whole ordeal had made the timid old lady forever mute and she didn’t utter a word.

                 Her hair was frizzy like and orb about her head and when on the back of the men it seemed to drift about her head like tumble weed catching the wind. She wore, what many in the village thought was too much, with huge ribbons tied about her neck and shoulders, and pieces of material of every colour. They might have commented on her peculiar attire but Sari was a brilliant seamstress and made all of the clothes for the tribe. Each piece of clothing however was branded with a strange sigil; a sailing ship with a strange symbol along its hull. At first this was of much fascination to the people of the village but now, having lived with Sari it seemed too normal to kick up a fuss about. They thought she must have lived by the sea when she was younger and had seen this ship when she was only a child.

                Dural was an interesting character too, he had short black hair and a pointed rat-like nose. He was on the shoulders of one of the smallest men in the group, Jonan and was giving him a long and lengthy tale about his interesting youth. Dural told some of the best stories in the village but almost everybody, apart from the children, took them as mere stories. He spoke of himself fighting off hoards of Blackwater agents, often said he was once part of Blackwater but had somehow found the good within himself to leave. Once or twice he talked of fearsome beasts that he had fought in his youth, dragon and giants that littered the land to the west, which was convenient because nobody knew what was to the west. Dural’s stories, while amusing to some, often caused problems in the tribe as sometimes his stories started to involve other people in the tribe or struck a nerve with some of the other members. Dural had once told a mighty story about saving a woman named Xertia. Xertia was once the leader of the clan’s daughter (the leader following Yecht, Hendax) she then married the current leader of the tribe, Lincoln, bringing him the power of leadership and also two sons before she died, days after he youngest sons birth. When Dural told his story about Xertia, he intended it to be a noble story of her life but unfortunately her still grieving husband almost killed him in a fight and would have left him in the sand to fend for himself if it wasn’t for Tunara, Xertia’s younger sister.

                Leading the group was Lincoln and his son Timothy, a few strides behind them was Tunara and Cynodel, missing the company of Sari.

                “Son we are heading to the basin, it is still a few days travel from here” Lincoln told his son, looking off to the horizon, silently ignoring his legs needing to stop.

                “Yes father you told me yesterday, and the day before that.” Timothy spoke with the slightest hint of pomposity that was almost immediately detected by his father.

                “You know, you always think you have the whole world sorted out but one day you’ll have to make the decisions for our tribe and I daresay you might need me to tell you things twice.” Lincoln ruffled the hair of his son who winced, clearly not enjoying this at all.

                Interrupting from behind sounded the voice of Tunara. “If I’m not interrupting a quality father and son bonding moment the people are getting tired and I think it’d be best for us all to find shade and take a rest.” She pointed out to a huge dune that was casting a large enough shadow for the entire convoy to settle in. she waited barely a moment before she made the anticipated sarcastic remake “Or does our leader here, Lincoln, have a better plan.” Tunara had brilliant sapphire eyes and grey hair that strangely made her look youthful, though her tired looking brother-in-law had had no such kindness; he had grown old with as much grace as toppling rhino. Where her figure stood as tall as ever Lincoln’s back showed the first signs of a hum.

                Lincoln begrudgingly turned to face her and said “nope that sounds brilliant I could do with some rest” he screwed up his face in the strangest of smiles turning his eyes into wrinkled messes and his cheeks rippled the begrudging smile outward like waves in water. His face almost immediately fell to his normal glum still impression. “I wonder why you aren’t in charge Tunara.” He said with a cheeky tone to end the discussion.

                Tunara turned to the group, still walking, but backward now and flailed her arms in the air as though she was drowning, she yelled “We’re just going to stop a moment to catch our breathe!” but not a single person moved an inch and those that looked up at her arm waving malarkey had continued doing what they were doing before she finished her sentence. There was a moment she checked that everybody had ignored her then on an off step Lincoln stopped. Tunara walked into the back of Timothy (Lincoln’s son) but on that second that entire caravan had stopped and looked up to hear what Lincoln had to say.               

                It had been near twenty years since Xertia died and at the time she and Lincoln lead the tribe together. When she passed Tunara thought that she would assume command but she had no experience and thought too little about the tribe in general, and instead focused on every person individually. Those that followed Tunara followed her absolutely but Lincoln still was favoured by much of their clan. Whenever Tunara became too puffed up with steam and refused to function within the clan Lincoln decided to hold an election, but last time the votes were closer than he would have liked therefore there hadn’t been such an event for months.

                “We’re going over into the shade,” pointing over to the dune. “Tunara thinks we need a rest!” Some of the younger men made a sort of disagreeing grunt then started to walk over and soon everybody was walking over to the shade. Mockingly Lincoln turned to Tunara, “Oh that’s why,” feigning surprise.

               


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are very much appreciated

                The cold sands settled many of their tired limbs and some, like Lincoln resorted to lying in the sand half buried. Timothy sat down beside him with his feet dug into the dune, they both stayed silent for some time, both watching over their tribe who were all, in their own way relaxing. Timothy had been counselled by his father for many years and had never had the opportunity to join the guard with his brother. Timothy’s resemblance was no to the sunken face of his father but strangely resembled Yecht with his high cheek bones and chiselled chin. His face was littered with tiny black hairs that were either the sign of change for the man’s look or a demonstration of his laziness and his hair roamed free on the top of his head. The elders of the village had been given their ground back and as expected Sari joined Tunara and Cynodel. The three ladies sat down into the sands themselves talking and every now and again fell silent only to give Lincoln a disgusted look before bursting into even faster conversation. Timothy’s brother, Franklin was on the other side of the tribe with Jonan and Zaren. Jonan had joined their tribe not twelve years ago and had come through from Lincoln’s brother’s tribe, with a message for Lincoln. Since then he had made quite an impression. Lincoln told him at the time, he could stay until he wanted to return but, knowing how long the journey is and how difficult it can be Lincoln didn’t truly expect Jonan to ever go back to Jordan in the east, nor did he think that Jonan did. As Franklin spoke to Jonan, Lincoln could tell that Jonan was terrified. It was only a year since young Jonan had stabbed Lincoln’s eldest son, something that Franklin hadn’t forgiven Jonan for. As both Timothy and Lincoln watched as they saw Franklin make several movements with his arm towards the women of the village and off Jonan went, to do his normal duties. (Caring for the sick, the old and the down right annoying. Jonan was often seen in the company of Dural.). Though most of the men in the village looked like huge goliaths Jonan didn’t, no thanks to the fact he hadn’t to do any physical labour, ever since the ‘accidental’ stabbing. Lincoln raised his arm out of the sand and gestured his eldest son over but both Zaren and Franklin got up. Zaren and Franklin looked similar in the way that they were both huge, their muscles were tones and looked like they were close to breaking stone, though both were striking neither looked grotesque.

                Zaren’s tanned skin was topped with black hair that was tied back into a small pony tale. The knot looked like it was at breaking point as his hair was just about to spring into action, his long arched nose dominated his face leaving his topaz eyes hidden under a thick brow. Franklin had much shorter hair that was almost bold on either side, giving his entire skull a daringly square look coupled with his wide angular jaw.

                “I have told you, your father doesn’t like how you treat Jonan.” Zaren spoke in hushed tones as they passed a group of the villagers, he didn’t like them to think things happened in the tribe without Lincoln’s say-so, “I know he stabbed you but that was near a year ago now.”

                “A stabbing doesn’t age, he still stabbed me.” Franklin replied as they both walked, he raised his garments to reveal a gruesome contorted scar on this stomach, “I don’t care if it was an accident or not, none of the other men have stabbed me.”

                “Doesn’t matter he could still be useful, especially in Ochreton.”

                “Father and you came from Ochreton before mother brought you into the tribe, what’s it like?”

                Zaren stopped a moment to think of the word as though the process demanded so much brain power he could no longer coordinate his legs while thing. Franklin stopped a moment after. “Inhospitable.” Zaren started to walk off again leaving Franklin thinking for a second before darting up the hill to catch up.

                “Thanks for the great detailed description.” Franklin jokingly said this as he tapped Zaren’s shoulder and joined his family in the cool sand. “Alright Tim?” he asked happily slapping his little brother’s leg. Timothy didn’t reply instead he appreciatively raised his head slightly then turned to his father.

                “When will we reach Ochreton, dad?” Timothy’s voice was slightly higher than Franklin’s though either’s could not be described as a squeak.

                Zaren answered the question, “The dunes move like the waves of the ocean. The basin could be over the next one or the hundredth after that, hopefully we’ll be there in a couple more days though.” Lincoln nodded still watching Tunara. Franklin noticed him looking and soon all of them were looking at the three women as they slowly made their way through the crowd in the tribe. “Lincoln don’t worry she won’t be too annoying until Ochreton, she says she has _‘Great ways to help the tribe in Ochreton’_ though sounds more like great ways to make you look a fool.” Zaren spoke as though he was treading on a fine wire he could barely see. He and Tunara had been sleeping in the same tent now for almost seven years and tried to be as fair as possible when talking to both of them.

                Lincoln squinted over at Jonan then back at his son, with the slightest twirl in his mouth. Franklin met his glance with the flattest of looks and with the a victimised tone; “Is nobody remembering that I was stabbed by that incompetent fool?”

                His brother answered in a jolly tone that brought the slightest chuckle to the men. “Continue forcing him to listen to Dural and he’ll probably do it again.”

*

The tribe moving was not an uncommon occurrence, in fact to many of the younger people most of their time in the tribe had been spent moving their homes. They lived in a desert - the size of which wasn’t known, even by Dural or Yecht- although they did know of a few geographical features surrounding them. Their knowledge of the north was meagre at the best of times; Blackwater was based in the north. To the east Jordan, Lincoln’s brother lived with his tribe and if you travelled far enough east there was water that reached out to the horizon and beyond. North East; large sand stone cliffs blocked the passage of people and knowledge. The land beyond the cliffs was known as the White Desert ( a man had once climbed down the cliffs and shared many stories of the land above the desert but this had been many years ago). West of the tribe there were much rougher lands where only truly desperate people or groups would venture. Wild beasts and crazed animals stalked the lands. South west was where the “God Spears” stood. These enormous spears sticking from the ground could have only been thrown into it; they rose higher into the sky than anything that had ever been seen.

                 The supernatural sight of these dark spears would be enough to send most men running. The select few that decided to venture toward them were often reminded of a famous tale in these lands. The name Gabronia was known by all, a sort of fairy tale with a not so happy ending. He believed after a few drinks that the “God Spears” was not a sign of god’s rage but of his presence and thought that at the centre of the spears, there was a gift for the men, a gift to fight Blackwater with. To many of the people around Gabronia that was the news they wanted to hear their entire life and soon he was being pushed from all sides to follow through with his plan; to visit the spears. He left with thirty or forty people eager to find their saviour. As the figure moved further and further into the distance the naysayers watched as the sky turned and a great lightning storm began to brew. Gabronia and his men tried to run back but by the time they had turned they were hit with three bolts of lighting and all were vaporised into the air, needless to say not many people went to the “God Spears”.  

                To the south of the travelling tribe there was a drop in the desert floor into much more fertile lands.The boring flat land fell away to give rise to an entirely different world, living emeralds and glorious greens made up a sea of leaves. The thick jungle was as dense as lead, not a single praying eye could penetrate the lush top layer of the forest. The basin was safe from Blackwater but was hardly safe from anything else, people like Lincoln and Zaren knew the dangers of the basin like nobody else and they were walking straight back into it. Though Lincoln had never been told his sons the full story of his years in Ochreton, a town, near city, in the basin, he had been very clear to his boys that it was a place that he’d much rather avoid. With Blackwater coming further south than ever and the scarcity of land with other rivalling tribes it seemed that they would be forced back down into the valley.

                While travelling Timothy was well aware of the toil his father was enduring and the strain manifested in an even greater loathing of Tunara. In the final days of their travels Lincoln looked at least eighty having not slept and not ate in days. His face looked like the whole of it was about to sag off his face, lying heavily above his eyes drawing long shadows under them. Zaren too was stressed but not to the same extent, he stopped joking about and just seemed to walk (in a stern sort of way in the way someone would look forward pretending they were thinking about something to avoid being talked to).

*

When they reached the edge they could see deep down into the basin and it looked as calm as any forest but they could hear a strange murmur as though someone was muttering in their tribe. Lincoln and Zaren exchanged a knowing glance and they all camped for the final time at the top of the pit, with the murmur following them about like a bad smell. Franklin and Timothy had found a ledge on which to perch, they stared down onto the green canopy that hid the people below.

                “What aren’t they telling us?” Timothy asked his brother sort of airily, asking anybody who might answer though his brother was the only one in earshot.

                “I think if they wanted us to know they would have told us.” His elder brother eventually did reply but there was a long pause as they both looked absent-mindedly into the ocean of green spread out before them. “Zaren is stressed too though, what ever it was it was before dad and Zaren joined the tribe.”

                “Do you think it had anything to do with Xertia?” said Timothy, still in a sort of trance with the shimmering leaves.  Franklin winced at the mention of his mothers name; he had known her, if only for a few years, he still remembered her smile fondly though often contested the fact his younger brother never called her ‘mum’.

                “No dad said she had never visited the basin and he met her up here on the surface.” Franklin spoke solemnly as though to appease the spirits for his brother’s speech. Franklin got  to his feet, he was getting tired and hadn’t realised they had both been staring at the trees for almost an hour though it felt like only ten minutes. He raised his thick black eye brows and in a smooth movement grabbed his much smaller brother by the scruff of his neck and the band about his waist. Raising him to his feet Franklin then suddenly lifted him off the ground and moved him slightly over the edge and Timothy went completely stiff with fear, yelling and screaming. Placing his brother down onto his feet again Franklin chortled and began to walk away. “One day I might drop you and playing dead’ll be useless to you.” Franklin face split into a full blown grin by the time he had once again reached the camp, leaving Timothy to silently calm his nerves and slow his heart rate.


End file.
